


He Ate My Heart

by DoreyG



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alfred isn't Paid Nearly Enough for This, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: comment_fic, Gen, Implied Rough Sex, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are heel shaped bruises on Master Bruce’s lower back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Ate My Heart

There are heel shaped bruises on Master Bruce’s lower back again.

He’s seen them before, and so knows better than to comment. Only sighs - hands over a towel with only the slightest shake of his head, the faintest disapproving curl of his lip.

…Master Bruce accepts it, and that’s the most worrying thing. He already seemed quiet, when he came in; painfully thoughtful, in a way that hurts his heart to see. He accepts the towel like a lamb, led meekly to the slaughter – offers only the faintest smile as he wraps it around himself, “thank you, Alfred.”

“Sir,” he offers, as neutrally as he can.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Sir,” he offers, again neutral. And turns on his heel, prepares to stride away and bury himself in a place where he won’t be called upon to speak for some time… “Sir, may I ask you something?”

Master Bruce blinks, looks surprised at the sudden change of affairs. He arches his eyebrow in reply, resists the urge to bounce on his heels only with the aid of long practice, “as long as you make it quick, Alfred. I feel in need of a bath.”

To wash away the marks of that… Of _that_. His lips purse, he locks his hands behind his back to hide their shake. He can feel his forced neutrality begin to crack under the strain, “why do you do this to yourself, sir? Why do you _keep_ doing this to yourself, despite all advice to the contrary?”

“Alfred,” Master Bruce, at least, doesn’t seem to notice. Or pretends not to notice, at any rate. He only huffs out a long breath, crosses his arms over his chest – there are scratches on both, his stomach drops at the sight, “we’ve been over this, multiple times. Gotham needs a protector, and I-“

“I don’t mean that,” he snaps, before he can stop himself. Doesn’t dare trust his voice again until he’s taken several deep breaths, until Master Bruce is staring at him with something close to guilt in his eyes, “sir. I mean… Him. Why do you let him near you? Why do you keep letting him near you, no matter what he does? What he _is_?”

Master Bruce stares at him for a long second. Eyes still guilty, face so incredibly sad in a way that’d make his heart break if it hadn’t several times over already.

“…I’ll see you in the morning, Alfred,” and then turns away. Shows his back, still so bruised and livid, and pads towards the bathroom like a soldier returning from war, “toast for breakfast, if that’s alright.”

He watches the heel shaped bruises on Master Bruce’s back retreat, sighs, and gathers the tattered remains of his neutrality around him yet again. He can do nothing else, after all.


End file.
